eacher, and his huge
hand trembled on the lock of the door.

"Go in first," said he to Arthur, giving him the lantern. "She will be
less afraid of you than of me."

Arthur opened the door, and shading the lantern, so as to soften its
glare, he went in with cautious steps. A little black figure, with
white hands and white face, was kneeling between the desk and the stove.
The hands were clasped so tightly, they looked as if they had grown
together, and the face had a still, marble look--but life, intensely
burning life was in the large, wild eyes uplifted to his own.

"Helen, my child!" said he, setting the lantern on the stove, and
stooping till his hair, silvered with the night-frost, touched her
cheek.

With a faint but thrilling cry, she sprang forward, and threw her arms
round his neck; and there she clung, sobbing one moment, and laughing
the next, in an ecstasy of joy and gratitude.

"I thought you'd come, if you knew it," she cried.

This implicit confidence in his protection, touched the young man, and
he wrapped his arms more closely round her shivering frame.

"How cold you are!" he exclaimed. "Let me fold my cloak about you, and
put both your hands in mine, they are like pieces of ice."

"Helen, you poor little forlorn lamb," cried a rough, husky voice--and
the sudden eclipse of a great shadow passed over her. "Helen, I did not
mean to leave you here--on my soul I did not. I forgot all about you. As
I hope to be forgiven for my cruelty, it is true. I only meant to keep
you here till school was dismissed--and I have let you stay till you are
starved, and frozen, and almost dead."

"It was my fault," replied Helen, in a meek, subdued tone, "but I'll try
and study better, if you won't shut me up here any more."

"Bless the child!" exclaimed the master, "what a little angel of
goodness she is. You shall have all the sunshine of the broad earth,
after this, for all my shutting out one ray from your sweet face. That's
right--bring her along, doctor, under your cloak, and don't let the
frost bite her nose--I'll carry the lantern."

Wondering that the father had not sought for his lost child, Arthur
carried her home, while the master carefully lighted their slippery
path.

Great was the astonishment of Mr. Gleason, on seeing his little daughter
brought home in such a state, for he imagined her at the fireside of one
of her companions, in company with her sister. Her absence had
consequently created no